MORE ABOUT MY FEATHERED FRIENDS. 79 



woods, I used to watch eagerly for the appearance of 

 these beautiful scarlet birds. The black feathers of the 

 wings and tail form a fine contrast to the bright plumage 

 of the neck and back. As the woods are cleared away 

 we lose many of our summer visitors from the other 

 side of the lakes. 



The tahager's nest is made of strips of bass and fine 

 rootlets woven together and fastened securely to a 

 branch where no rude winds can shake it. There they 

 hatch their little broods, and, as soon as the young birds 

 are fitted for the change, quietly depart, their dazzling 

 robes being no more seen glancing among the dark 

 shades of the forest. So peacefully do our " war birds " 

 come and go. 



One day, some years ago; I met an Indian with a 

 dead bird in his hand, which by its thick short bill I 

 recognized as one of the grosbeak family, but unlike 

 any of those birds I had before seen, the pale whitish 

 plumage of its breast being dashed with crimson spots, 

 just as if its throat had been cut and the drops of blood 

 had fallen in an irregular shower on the breast. 



I a*sked Indian Peter the name of the bird. With the 

 customary prologue of " Ugh ! " a guttural sort of 

 expression, he replied, " Indian call bird ' cut-throat ' ; 

 see him breast {" thus calling my attention to the singular 

 red marks I had noticed, and at the same time showing 

 me that they were not blood-stains caused in the killing 

 6f the bird. He was taking it to a young gentleman 



